


Envy Engenders Spite

by TaraRhyme



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Hogwarts Third Year, Light Angst, M/M, Time Travel Fix-It, Time Travelling Harry Potter, Time Travelling Trio
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:47:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29929518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaraRhyme/pseuds/TaraRhyme
Summary: The Battle of Hogwarts was tragically gory and lacking in glory. Months are passing by, mutely and emptily, for a particular three friends. Harry, Ron, and Hermione find the chance to make things right too good to refuse. Their families could live, after all-- if they don't muck it all up this go-around.Because after this, there are no more second tries.Harry Potter wakes up in Dudley's second bedroom in 1993, Ron in the room under the attic, and Hermione in the freshly painted third floor of her parents' flat. Then they remember.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Harry Potter & Severus Snape, Harry Potter & Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Sirius Black & Harry Potter
Comments: 13
Kudos: 52





	1. Always Starts With a Drink

"Oh alright!" Ron threw his hands up. "So you've actually gone mental, then? Because what you're considering-" He couldn't even finish his thought, he was so distraught. Hermione rubbed a comforting circle on the boy's tense back. It did little to soothe the crazed look in his eye.

"Maybe I have lost it this time," Harry admitted with a sheepish smile. Ron might be horrified, but Hermione had yet to argue- which meant that it wasn't a completely shite plan.

The three of them sat in Lancashire, in a dingy backwater pub. The kind that had those old, low ceilings and naught but one, dingy window that showed an alleyway. Harry was staying up here, most morbidly, in Spinner's End. While Ron and Hermione didn't quite understand the whole Snape thing, they understood that Harry understood... and that it was important to him that the sour Professor be referred to only with respect.

The war was over, but there were still pocket uprisings led by some whack job or another. None had the sway or sheer strength of Tom Marvolo Riddle, and Harry was done fighting battles. The remaining Aurors, mostly replaced by young graduates, could deal with the insurgents.

It was late-summer and it was highly unlikely that Hogwarts would open her doors this year. The infrastructure, wards, and the teachers... all needed to be repaired and replaced. 

At any rate, the entire Wizarding world was in repair as well.

Presently, Ron nursed his left hand milk stout. Harry was new to drink, and he refused beer on principle. Not solely because it doesn't taste good to him, but because it stunk of his uncle's breath whenever Harry was about to have a _very_ bad night.

Hermione had the same as Harry, a double gin. It was clean and clear, and tasted sharp. It made his head feel clear even as he knew it was clouding his senses. 

Her face was indecipherable to him. It always was so screwed in concentration, hiding the machinations behind those lovely, honey eyes. She didn't sleep well, and it read in the lines on her face so young.

"Harry's right." Hermione said distantly and Ron immediately sputtered. "This could be a real chance."

"You can't be serious Hermione, I mean, you're the sensible one!" Ron was not having it. His left hand was nervously, methodically picking at the damaged wood of their heavy oak table.

"Look, if we have a shot, then let's do it." She said sharply. "Your brothers, your sister, my parents..." Her voice cracked. It still haunted her that she had chosen not to erase their memories. "With so much more information... even if things don't go perfect, Ron, we have an advantage. We have a chance, really, and a chance is enough for me." Habitually she went to run her fingers over the large carving of _mudblood_ on her right forearm. It was magically induced. A permanent reminder. 

Ron looked from Harry to Hermione, as if searching for a sane person amidst the insane.

"You talked her into this, didn't you?" He accused. "Why's she been so helpful about something so utterly ridiculous- you're smarter than this Hermione!"

"Please, can anyone talk Hermione into doing something she doesn't want to?" Harry offered. He sipped his double, still unused to alcohol, but enjoying it the way one enjoys gambling. You don't play to win.

"Explain to me, again, how you'd think this can even work." Ron was caving, he had been for the last couple days that Harry had been inviting them up north, once Ron'd gotten over the inherent creepiness of Harry living in their dead Professor's house. He was still so wary. It was the wizard-raised in him, they had certain things that you _just don't do_. Messing with time was one of them.

"I've worked out all the details. After altering Hermione's old time turner-" Harry was cut off instantly. 

"Wait, this is _that_ time turner?" Ron turned on Hermione. "But I thought all of them had been destroyed. You did know Harry was up to something then, right from the start. You've been helping more than just this last week."

"The one from third year," Harry continued when Hermione did little more than shrug. "McGonagall found it, actually. Dumbledore was a sentimental guy, and I just guess he'd hung onto it. It wasn't exactly in perfectly functioning order, see." Harry explained.

Ron sighed with instant clarity. That wasn't too often with him. "So the two of you, you fixed it up. How?"

The two in question shared a fond smile.

"At first we had hoped to go back to before Voldemort murdered... well, the Potters." Hermione shot Harry's impassive face a glance as she spoke. "But it's just not possible. The concept of displacement turners are applicable commonly for minutes, hours, a few days at most. Without the injuries sustained to that time turner, we'd never have been able to figure out the displacement loophole. Lucky us." 

"So, if we can't stop Voldemort from marking Harry, or even from him making any horcruxes, then how far back can we go?" Ron's eyes were darting back and forth between his friends. He'd finished his beer, not his first of the night, but he was not soothed by drink thusfar.

"We've managed nearly six years, we think." Harry murmured.

"Oh. We think? That's reassuring, really, no it is." Ron replied.

"And then we were thinking we'd have to be so careful, about our past selves seeing us." Hermione went on.

"And then we took care of that too." Harry smiled the widest he could. "Er, well, you know how time is still happening the same way once you, er, go back?" Harry asked, and his friends nodded. Even though Hermione was the one who helped him with this, she listened with rapture. "Well, we managed that without doubles of ourselves, we'd try something more like... replacement."

"Harry," Rom said with a look of disbelief as they gathered their robes from the rack near the pub's door. They'd finished their drinks and were headed out onto the empty streets, the muggle bartender left behind with a hefty tip and a fading memory of the three. "Harry we're not twelve anymore. I don't think people would buy the 'growth spurt' rubbish either."

"Well, what I mean is... we'll be replacing ourselves. Permanently. Like, we'd... become ourselves. At twelve." There was a slight breeze out today, and the sky was clearing up. Hermione didn't don her robe again but Harry and Ron were. The Notice-Me-Not's were second nature to the teenagers by now. No one would've blinked if they'd seen them, and as it was there was hardly any soul still alive around Spinner's End.

"W-we can't kill ourselves!" Ron protested. "It's that muggle thinking I swear. No wizard would ever dare to think to... why can't you see?" He moaned. "These aren't the sorts of things you can just mess with and get away with!"

"It's nothing so depressing," Hermione soothed. "It's a developed kind of magic that is stronger than simple _displacement_ charms." She spoke so prim when she taught someone something. "When we turn this- well it's sort of a time turner but not really anymore- it will locate our magical presence and displace us into our past. It's like a portkey, Ron, but with time too. Think of it that way. But that would, oh Harry! You!" Hermione realised.

"Hermione?" He frowned. 

"The horcruxes," she said. "You too! _Your_ horcrux..." She said meaningfully.

"We don't know that for sure," he said hastily. "And if... I mean we know how to get rid of it, worst comes to worst. Hermione we've done the work, this is doable."

When they got to the narrow home of Severus Snape that Harry was currently holed up in, Harry ushered them in through the somber hall into the outdated kitchen. He threw a kettle on, out of habit. No one was thirsty, but the comfort of a cuppa couldn't be refused. 

"This is potentially very dangerous," she swallowed, and admitted to Ron after thinking about the horcruxes for a good bit. Hermione was being truthful. It was risky. But Harry saw in both their eyes thoughts of their families, and all their friends. So very dead, and could be so very alive.

"It's worth it, isn't it?" He said once the water was done boiling. "It's a price I'm willing to pay for all the people who paid with their lives for us." 

"Alright," Ron conceded after days of badgering. "I think I've got most things straight on all this." He sighed gustily over his piping tea.

"Well, if we're all agreed, then we better go on before we change our minds." Harry knew that either way, he was leaving today.

"Hang on," Ron let a laugh burst free, startling Hermione and Harry. "You've got it here, haven't you?"

"Yeah," Harry admitted sheepishly. "But I couldn't just... go. Hermione wanted to. And we couldn't not, at the very least, tell you. I mean if you don't want to, we wouldn't force you but... you're our best mate, Ron. We'd want you with us. Like always."

"I'm _tired_ , Harry." Ron said wearily, and Harry knew he meant more than physical. Harry could relate. But then again, he never was one to quit.

"I am too." Harry agreed. "But I need to do this, Ron. Now that I know it's possible? I can't live with not taking the chance. I can go alone, but been having a hard time convincing Hermione of that."

"We'd _never_ let you do this alone." Hermione said furiously, looking at Ron with a hard-set jaw.

"You need us. Just like we need you, Harry." Ron said with finality, and a soft smile.

Harry let that ink in for a moment, then Ron spoke again.

"What will happen to the people here... like Neville, or Cho? They're still around. They'll remember us."

"This timeline, once we've gone back with replacement, won't exist with regards to us. It's like a clean slate, or so Hermione explained."

"Exactly," she said softly.

"Alright." Ron said again, nodding his head with consent.

"Ready?" Harry asked, to make sure, drawing the gold chain out of his robe's inner pocket.

"Absolutely." Hermione replied with a quiet ferocity.

"When you are, mate." Ron's voice cracked a bit.

Harry stretched the gold chain necklace around them all, in that shabby kitchen, then twisted the sands exactly seven times one way, and three the other. Numbers of power. Then once more in the other direction to seal the count, and that should've been it. They seemed to hold their breath as one in that pin-silent house in the cul-de-sac of Spinner's End.

Nothing happened.

They stood there huddled in the room, then Harry frowned, about to ask Hermione if he'd done it wrong when the lone lightbulb in the kitchen burst, followed by the small glass window over the sink. Ron grabbed his shoulder in solidarity and perhaps some fear. Harry linked his arm with Hermione, pulling her into their group huddle even more.

The clock to the side of the cabinets began to whir. A clock? Harry couldn't recall a clock in Spinner's End's kitchen, and certainly not one like Mrs. Weasley's.

But it _was_ Mrs. Weasley's.

Harry's clock hand, an honorary addition that had him cry in privacy, was pointed to moral peril along with Ron's. He couldn't look away as the hands on the clock began to jerk and spin uncontrollably, never settling, and as their surrounding began to blur with odd periphery movement, Harry remained focused on that clock, wondering how in the world it'd gotten to Spinner's End.

A sound like wind, or maybe a train, or maybe a fog horn, filled the air, rising in pitch. Harry felt his skin and hair blow back as if by a great force, and he felt the comforting touch of his best friends in the whole world fade away like mist, dissolving, and he couldn't move. There was no floor anymore, just movement all around him and that clock that couldn't settle. 

The last Harry remembered was the hands of Harry and Ron come to a rest on Mortal Peril, and he jerked upright from a stiff bed.

_Jesus_ did Dudley get him good, his head was still feeling fuzzy. Actually, his mouth was too. It had a curious, numb feeling to it. Harry felt around his face for a bruise or cause of numbness before he let the hand fall down to the ratty sheets.

He smiled and let his sore, thirteen year old body fall onto the bed. He remembered the taste of gin very suddenly- and something else, something that tasted like hope. 

_They did it._


	2. Don't Forget to Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's 1993, is all as it seems?

It was early morning and Harry saw the sky was lightening.

A clean set of three raps at his door had him lose the satisfied smile. He hadn't seen the Dursleys since they'd fled Privet Drive, and later he went to their graves. He learned, after it was all said and done, that they had been caught up with by some Death Eaters. He didn't think much about it.

"Boy!" Came the nasal pitch of Petunia Dursley. A pause. "Are you up?"

"Yes," he called, still uncomfortable with the situation he found himself in. Harry was a living-in-the-moment type, it made him headstrong. But he hadn't really spared much thought for the Dursleys before coming back. That was a part of his life he didn't give much thought if he didn't have to.

"Well get breakfast on, just me and Dudders. Marge is on her way, Vernon's gone to get her." she grumbled through the door before shuffling off to the bath.

Around six years in the past. It seemed like an accurate estimate based on his surroundings and the thinner, weaker body. If it was possible he was shorter than he remembered. So around thirteen years old, right before Marge came to visit and he blew her up like a balloon. That memory brought the smile back to his face.

Stretching his arms still aching from some droll house chore or another, Harry eyed the beautiful, alive Hedwig. She offered him a soft, sleepy hoot. During the summers she did her best to sleep during the nights, as it was difficult to estimate when Harry could let her in and out.

"Hey Hedwig," he said cheerily. "How you do you feel about heading to the Weasleys? I'm sure they've got some proper nosh for you," he goaded. She tilted her head as if in comprehension. Harry dug open the floorboard that hid knick knacks like his wand, food stuffs, and pens and parchment. He didn't exactly have an inkwell for quills, so a thick pen would have to make do.

 _Ron,_ he wrote with thrumming enthusiasm. He knew they shouldn't outright say what they'd done, in case anyone read their mail. That was greatly unlikely, but possible. If that was the case Harry was going to put in some things to throw them off without explicitly saying the real reason he was writing.

_Have you done the potions essay yet? 36 inches of absolute torture, that's what it is. Don't know how we ever managed this. What exactly has Snape taught us? Or have we been too busy throwing fireworks and brewing illicit Polyjuice..._

_How's the family (all of them)? Is Percy back to being a royal snob? Try and reach out but don't strain yourself. Some things just come with... time. Or so I'd wager._

_Been feeling a bit dicky but otherwise I think everything's turned out all right. Got Marge on her way, though. Vernon's sister. Bound to be a nightmare._

_And just to check, seven turns did it?_

_Harry_

That had enough alluding to the altered Time Turner, and had enough other distracting material that if one of the other Weasleys read it, they wouldn't focus on the 'turns' bit. The talk about Snape is more in character to how they were as actually thirteen year olds, even as he felt some guilt over talking of the man so callously. Snape had lived a life of regret. He'd hardly lived at all.

Harry sent off a more alert Hedwig, and told her to spend as much time at the Weasleys as she liked. He would send a letter to Hermione once Hedwig felt well-rested and fed enough to come back.

There was more time now, after all.

The bath was still running, and Dudley was no where near awake yet, so Harry could take his sweet time down the stairs. He'd not cooked for the Dursleys in a good while, but he'd never forget the feel of the hot jumping grease or good smell that taunted him. He rarely could sit at the table with the others even though he'd cooked. Instead, like now, he'd sneak food while cooking. When Petunia had first caught wind of that, she'd started supervising his cooking.

Today she was unawares upstairs, and Harry hissed through a sizzling hot piece of bacon. He was making bangers and eggs primarily, and then would toast up some tomatoes and bread.

Dudley came down with a ruckus. Harry was surprised he'd got up before noon in the summer.

"What you cooking?" His cousin asked rapturously. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Breakfast," he said shortly.

"Brill," Dudley spoke with exultation. A tone certainly never before heard by Harry and very curious. Then he nearly smacked himself. Oh dear he'd forgotten- this was the summer with the dieting, wasn't it? "Did mum finally crack the diet then?"

"Er, no."

"Whatever," Dudley grunted and went to sit expectantly at the table. Harry felt an old anger rise up at his cousin waiting to be served by him. Who cares if he's dangerously obese? _That's his problem frankly_ , Harry thought. _If he wants to gorge on bangers, let him!_

"Stupid!" Came the high tune of Petunia. "How hard is it to cut up fruit and honey? How hard is it, hm? I want my Dudley nice and healthy, and no nasty nurse getting on his case. Boy, are you even listening?" She marched over and gave Harry a _thwap_ upside the head.

"It's so easy, then you can get it," he said under his breath.

"What was that?" She gave him a sharp look.

"Nothing."

Harry sighed. She didn't like that, it spoke of too much personality and free will, so she gave him an extra ugly glare down her nose.

"Mum it's already made." Dudley was objecting. "Mum can't we just eat it? Please, mum, _please_?" His eyes began to screw up and Petunia hastily complied. Also, Harry had seen her throw some longing looks of her own at the hot meal.

"Dudders dear, well... today only, I suppose you can have a treat! With your Aunt Marge coming and all, it's a special occasion," she cooed. Harry pretended to retch as he flipped the tomatoes.

Breakfast itself was a quiet affair as the youngest Dursley gobbled down his plate like a man starved. And as Harry could recall the grapefruit slices, he couldn't entirely disagree. Maybe that was a bonus of Marge's visit for the household: normal food would be cooked up. The downside for Harry is that he would be the one cooking and cleaning it up.

When Marge and Vernon arrived it was near to eleven or so, and Harry was outside weeding. Vernon ignored him entirely but Marge spent a good minute trying to convince her pitbull to give Harry a scare.

"Go on," she prodded. "Give a go at the runt!" The dog in question looked absolutely tuckered out and instead took a biggie on the lawn. Marge scowled at the lack of Harry-running-for-his-life.

"Clean that up," she barked at him, careful to avoid looking at him for too long before going in. Before the door swung shut he heard some exclamations of "Look how you've grown!" He was glad the dog went in before it decided Harry actually was a good target.

It was later that evening that Harry was bustling about with the dessert dishes that Marge started in on his parents.

"You shouldn't feel bad, Petunia," she was saying. "Every family has the chance to pop out a bad egg, shame it had to be your sister."

Petunia was holding her neck and nodding happily along. The brandy glasses were being as quickly refilled as they were being emptied. That was the only thing that upset Harry this time around. He could control himself better, mostly, but seeing his uncle drink was never good. Worse, it was stronger than beer, and Vernon was already puce in the face.

"Boy!" Marge barked. Harry rather thought she barked better than her dogs. "I suppose you've been eyeing the brandy, haven't you?" Harry looked up from the mostly empty decanter, that he had indeed been eyeing, with confusion. Where was she going with this? "Not surprising you'd be wanting to go down the same road as your parents, is it? Give this one a drinkie, and he'll be making off with your valuables and smashing your Vauxhall into a tree. Vernon mark my words! You can see the plotting in those beady little eyes."

"My eyes are neither beady or little," Harry said politely and went back to rubbing down the counter. Marge scoffed with indignation and he could see his uncle's face further purpling at the thought of Harry even breathing near his Vauxhall. Harry was a little amused by this, because Uncle Vernon knew damn well that Harry's parents were not alcoholics that died while drunk driving.

He supposed that Vernon just liked getting angry.

"We take him in hand," Vernon reassured his sister. "The boy's got to be kept in line. We don't let him run around willy-nilly, don't you worry! I don't stand with none of that namby-pamby free-will tosh they're spreading around these days." He raised his voice even more. "Isn't that right, boy?"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon. No free will here," he repeated.

"Don't get shirty with me," he hissed. "Think you're so smart, do you?"

"No, sir," Harry said, very smartly. "I'm meant to be an alcoholic degenerate just like the Evans sister, and her good-for-nothing husband."

Marge gave her brother a disapproving look. "You have to keep them in place," she warned. "Look at the boy, he thinks he's clever. Smirking like that, ha!"

"What did you just say?" Petunia said faintly, her face was drained of blood as she clutched her glass. "How- _dare you_ -"

"What?" Harry looked to her innocently. But it too late, Petunia caught the insinuation and Vernon was beginning to catch on. They weren't completely stupid, and Marge gasped with gleeful anticipation as her brother stood suddenly.

"We feed you," he began.

"Debatable."

"We give you shelter!" Vernon roared. "And you stand there, you little _freak_ , and call us names! Vilify us! You ungrateful runt-" He staggered around the table and Harry really wished he knew how to shut his mouth.

"I'm sure Lily understands," Harry said instead. "Every family has the chance to pop out a bad egg, shame it had to be her sister." Petunia made a sound like that of a whistle, all speech stolen away.

"Pet," Vernon said in a low voice. "Take Marge to her guest room, why don't you? And ask Dudley to watch telly in his room tonight."

Aunt Petunia wouldn't even look at him as she ushered Marge upstairs and collected Dudley from the sitting room. Marge however, was shooting him gleeful smiles over the broad shoulders of Uncle Vernon, which blocked escape from the kitchen.

 _Well_ , Harry thought. _No matter how painful this may be, I know the humiliation will be worse. If only I could use my wand Uncle Vernon, then we'd see who's the better man._

There really was no running this time, there was only the window over the sink behind him that led into the yard, but it was latched, and Harry didn't have that much time. When the first hit came, it was right to the face and Harry stumbled against the counter with a choked sound. Vernon grabbed his hair roughly and stood him upright before hitting him again in the same spot. He didn't hit the nose or eye, aiming only to leave a cheek bruise and a fucked up lip.

Harry's head was hurting enough for him to wonder if a punch could give you a concussion, even if it wasn't to the top of your head.

When Vernon let go of his hair, Harry shrunk down again, sliding to the floor and trying to fold in on himself as much as he could.

_I fought a war. I watched people die. And I have to take this, just for existing?_

Vernon gave him a right good kicking, all in silence. There were no words needed as Harry whimpered at the lash outs. He was done when he was breathing heavily and his face had changed from purple to a less threatening rosy pink.

"No belt today," he said conversationally. The only thing that gave him away was the shortness of breath. "Lucky you." The massive man went to the table again, and finished his brandy off with a sigh. Once it seemed Vernon was going to stay seated, Harry went out the backdoor, his Uncle's eyes on him all the while.

He was ashamed of it all, but even more so that he was nearly tearing up. He hadn't done that the first time around at thirteen. He'd outgrown the habit before Hogwarts. Now though, when he'd thought this all behind him...

It was more difficult.

As he flopped down near the hydrangeas at the furthest right corner, he hissed in pain. There would be bruising, certainly. He'd be sequestered away inside until they faded enough not to be startling to the point of asking questions. Petunia would need enough time to start whispering about his tendency to seek out fights, and the neighbours would commend her for taking in such a delinquent.

Harry sometimes felt crazy here growing up. Well, always. That hadn't changed even with extra years of experience and processing.

The Dursleys, like school exams, were just something you had to bear until it was over.

There was some rustling the bushes, some squirrel or chipmunk most likely, but otherwise Harry was blissfully alone. The air was cool and his face was still throbbing with heat so that felt nice.

"It'd be nice to be a squirrel," Harry considered aloud. "I would live a short, unbothered life. Maybe die by car, but otherwise it's pretty straightforward. Then again, I stay here much longer and Vernon may just run me over anyway. Surprised I made it the first time around," he mumbled.

The bushes gave a little rustle in response, and Harry laughed a little at himself for feeling shitty about life. Not too loud of course, in case the Dursleys, or God forbid the neighbours, heard him.

"Sometimes I feel mad, you know? Even a day in this house and..." He sighed, and silently watched the sky. There was a shooting star, or maybe it was aeroplane. Either way he didn't have a wish ready. Harry felt like he'd already asked everything of the universe. He was just a little frustrated to be back here, just as trapped and feeling useless like he did when he really was thirteen.

He didn't go back inside until all the lights in the house had been turned off, and as he crept back in he nearly went into his cupboard for the comforting darkness. But he pushed himself up the stairs. He wished Ron would write back soon. Harry felt terribly alone, and even though he was used to it, it didn't feel any better.

As it was, the very next morning Hedwig returned. Light taps at the window woke him, and he realised he'd not kept it open enough for her to fly in.

"Sorry!" He whispered, pushing the pane up. She flapped in and dropped a letter onto his bed before going for the water bowl that Harry kept fresh for her. He went to pick it up, and saw the _From Ron Weasley of the best Burrow_ and _To Harry Potter stuck in Surrey._ Harry snorted.

"Ta," Harry said to Hedwig, giving her a hearty rub of the head. The owl ruffed up her feathers and settled down with pride.

_It's been ages, hasn't it-_ Ron began the letter.

_Harry I can't even tell you how much swotting Percy's been up to. That'd fill a hundred letters. Glad to see him and talk to him though, after all this time. Maybe he'll get his head out of his arse in time, you're right. Fred and George, the todgers, have already managed to sneak potions in the mash at supper. They still love a good wind up in the hols and Mum really let them have it this time. Think she's had it up to here with the jokes- she thinks they've been giving us ideas, what with the car last year._

_Potions essay?! Cor Harry, I'd forgotten. I like to forget that Snape exists on a good day. That's what makes it a good day, see. You know, I'd like to sneak some potions into his mash..._

_So yeah, mum's applied for the Galleon draw in the Prophet. Don't know about you but I've got a good feeling this year. I keep thinking about Egypt... hm. Maybe it's all connected. Think I may take Divination this year, ha! Well, technically by the time you get this we'll have won the draw, cause Hedwig's sticking around for pampering today. We'll send her off tomorrow then sometime._

_Yeah of_ _course, seven turns did it. You too, I'd reckon? Haven't thought to ask Hermione about it, just wrote her back about a birthday present she's got you about a week ago. Before everything, you know. Errol's off then, and I guess you'll ask her, so send Hedwig back when you can with some news about Hermione. I know Errol'll need a good month anyways. Swear that bird is a million and one years old, poor thing._

_But it'll take ages, you know, to get to me and back to you after... because of winning the draw and all. I swear, I'm a seer. I can see it clear as day._

_And Harry, it's great to be back home._

Signed off with a narrow scribbled _Ron_.

Harry sighed in contentment, rubbing his sore, bruised cheek absentmindedly. Ron's consciousness made it back just fine. Of course it would, why wouldn't it?

"Hedwig, you've got one more letter, this time to Hermione, right?" A soft hoot.

Harry pried up the floorboard again and set aside his parchment and pen.

_Hermione,_

_I hope your summer's going great, and that your parents are doing well around this time. I know you're close and all, and you haven't seen them in a while. This must be a great time to really connect. I can't say the same, but I guess it's good for the Dursleys that they're, er, alive? Yeah._

_I saw a funny looking cat the other day, very ferocious looking but I swear it's half-kneazle. Looked at me like it knew what I was saying. I was thinking you haven't got a pet yet. Would you think of a cat? I think the wild temperament would be quite the fit, and they're intelligent pets. Reminds me of you. Also good at catching rats, you know..._

_By the way, Dudley's on a diet cause the school brought up health concerns. I thought it was a right laugh until I realised if he wasn't eating much, I wasn't going to be eating anything. Then I think my family had a right laugh about me. Makes them feel better, suppose._

_Marge, my uncle's sister, is here. Right miserable. Keeps trying to set her pitbull on me, but the thing seems to prefer sleeping most the time. Lucky me!_

_Dreaming of Hogwarts. Dreaming of something scrummy from the welcome feast, mostly. Missing you lots. Ron too of course._

_Just checking, seven turns should do it?_

_Harry_

Hedwig was sent off into the dusk, and Harry's mind returned to the next problem. Scabbers and Snuffles, or rather Padfoot and Wormtail. When his owl came back he'd write Ron again, not only about Hermione but to remind him to be careful what he says around the rat when the Weasleys take the Daily Prophet Galleon draw and are enjoying that trip to Egypt. It was the least he could do for Sirius Black- make sure clearing his name was doable and provable. How to do that without messing up the timeline too extravagantly? That was going to be harder.

He was sure that once they were all together again and could talk freely, they would come up with something ace. He was excited to see Hermione's response as she was always the most organised of them three. She likely already had a color coded plan mapped out. With Hermione, everything felt safe.

Marge left without any further incidents like the first night. Sure, Uncle Vernon was drinking more than ever, and so he was more prone to get some hits in, but what's new? Harry knew what the Cruciatus felt like, so this should be nothing.

But somehow when it was his relatives... it hurt more than any villain ever did manage. It made him think of Professor Snape as well, and gave him an odd sense of camaraderie.

Hermione's letter took nearly a week to arrive. It came two days before his birthday, which meant that Ron's already in Egypt by now; he knew since his last letter said that the draw winners would be announced the day Harry _got_ the letter. Or Ron at least insinuated that. So sometime around now Sirius Black would see them in the newspaper, Scabbers namely, and break out. Has that already happened or will it be soon?

Harry felt full with nervous energy thinking about it all, and was excited to read Hermione's letter on top of that.

It started with _Dear Harry,_ already more formal than Ron's.

_I am having a wonderful time in France, in fact I've added 'learn French' to my to-do list. That's likely why it'll take longer to get this to you. We've just come north, and we're going to take a ferry back to England tomorrow. Have you any clue when you'll be getting school supplies? Only just wondering, maybe you and Ron and me could go to Diagon together! Mum's got an idea in mind about visiting some cousins in Kent firstly, but let me know. I do feel great spending time with my family in the summer, but honestly I've had eleven years with them. I miss you and Ron and Hogwarts much more than my parents. It sometimes feels like Hogwarts will just vanish in a puff of smoke and I know my parents never would. I'm yakking, but do you know what I mean?_

_I hope you like your birthday present. I thought it was really very clever and Ron told me it was great when I asked a week ago. I want to send it now already, but we must wait! Tradition. I'll get an owl from Diagon to deliver, all proper-like. Also mum's meaning to send food along because I know you always mention that 'you'd die for a home cooked anything'. And she knows I'd like terribly if you didn't die, Harry._

_What were you going on about, with the seven turns bit? I've been reading it over and over but I'm sorry, I don't quite catch what you mean. Is it something to do with our summer work? I've done that weeks ago, and I hardly remember. I'm sorry! Have you thought about what classes you'll be electing to take this year? And no, you can't drop potions (Ron's already asked me). If you haven't gotten your school letter yet, you should soon, and then you'll see what I mean._

_Best,_

_Hermione_

_P.S. I gave Hedwig a boatload of treats, if she's looking a bit chubby! I'm thinking of getting an owl myself actually. I'd not really thought of cats._

Harry felt a pit open in his stomach at the cramped scrawl. It looked like... well.

Hermione didn't remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be clear, Harry's opinions and thoughts about the Dursleys' treatment of him are not my viewpoint. I think it's a fairly expected perspective from someone who's had to make due with the worst situations. And besides Sirius making a break for it, and Professor Lupin being the Defence teacher, the plot will be different for this book :) Can't spoil it though!


End file.
